Page 129 of Tears of Ink

He looks busy, and nerves put me on edge, so I don’t step forward and greet him.

Jennifer works the room and I take a moment to watch her do her thing. She’s perfection as she glides in black, and touches people on the arm when she greets them and makes them all think they are special. When she sees me her face falters. I kind of thought we’d got to the point of being okay, but then I don’t know what Eli has said to her since last night. The silver bob of Connie Grandbaronessy comes into view and she whispers in her daughter’s ear. Jennifer’s eyes glance at me, briefly, before they both turn away.

Fine. I could worry about it. But truth is, I can’t be bothered, Eli has told me how he feels and that’s all that matters to me. I smile a little to myself and step further into the room ready to mingle. This is my ball, my art, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows.

I double check the placement of my centrepiece. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of a piece before. I glance at the handsome man in the tux, whose lips I want to kiss again. I would never have made that without him, the idea would never have come to me. I’m smug knowing that he has my ying and yang on his skin forever.

When I don’t find anyone to talk to and I can’t see Damien from Whitlocks, or sadly anyone from the Tate Modern to launch myself at, I find my way to Gerard who’s talking to a woman in gold lace. He waves me forward and I turn away from the blues and step up with a smile.

“This is the woman you want,” Gerard says with a small wave in my direction. “This is the enormously talented Faith Hitchin.” He turns to me. “Faith, this is Angela Bartlett, Channel Four’s Head of Arts.”

“Channel Four?” I’m confused. I stop myself from saying I thought Sky were coming.

Angela smiles. She’s smooth and serene. Her pale blonde hair is neatly tied in a chignon and matches the pale gold of her dress perfectly. Seamlessly, she drops her fingers into her pale gold clutch and hands me a card.

“I hope we can talk, Faith. I’ve got some big ideas.”

“Big ideas? I’m sorry, I’m confused.” I shake my head and stare in bewilderment between her and Gerard. Gerard is grinning—which is really bloody annoying.

“Oh, yes,” Angela continues. “We have the Bake Off now, I’m thinking something along the lines of an Art Off.”

“Fart off? I’m sorry?” I can’t help myself.

Gerard laughs loudly, but then downs most of his glass of champagne.

Angela smiles, and I’m honestly surprised to find her smile genuine. “Well the title needs work, I’ll admit.”

My mouth opens in horror. “Oh, crap, was that actually an idea for a show?”

With a high laugh, she pats me on the arm. “If you want to open a discussion, I’d love to see you… next week, maybe?”

I go to say yes, before my doubts and fears can eat away at my future, but then I remember Al and the fact I should really be with him right now. “I’m going to be home for a while I think, but when I come to back to London that would be great.”

Her gaze sweeps the building. “It’s an impressive display.”

I nod, and a deep pool of pride overwhelms me. “I just put it together; the paintings are Elijah Fairclough’s.” I raise my voice slightly so more people can hear. There’s a murmur around the room and then people begin to move around the easels and canvases.

A brush against my elbow pulls my attention and I know it’s him before I’ve even turned around.

“Hi.” I blush as his eyes sweep along the skin skimming white satin.

“Hi.”

Eyes are on us from all around the room.

I wave to the retreating shape of Angela. “That was Channel Four.” I grin at him. “This is mad.”

If I expect him to smile it doesn’t come. “Thank you for using my paintings.”

“Eli.” A cold shiver crawls up my spine. I place my hand on his chest. His heart thumps below my palm. Be dammed who can see. This is nearly over. He loves me.

He nods. “I think this will open some doors for you, Faith.”

“Us, Eli. Us.”

“Faith, I need to—”

Our attention is pulled by the band striking up an up-tempo fanfare.